


one voice out of two separate strings

by dialecstatic



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, What Have I Done, also new york idk, probably a bit OOC, this just literary masturbation lbr, written at three am ssshhh don't judge me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 20:44:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/678705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dialecstatic/pseuds/dialecstatic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>they reek of each other. their skins are smudged with charcoal and wine and paper ink and too much love for two (one) soul to hold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	one voice out of two separate strings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beckyinthesky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beckyinthesky/gifts).



> i have no idea what this is, i just started writing and let it get away with me i guess. enjoy tho! (i hope)

grantaire is his.

enjolras doesn’t quite know how it happened, only that grantaire, wild and restless and a right mess most of the time, especially on purpose, is his.

they don’t talk about feelings. they never really have, they just fell into a not so easy routine, grantaire often too drunk and enjolras too worried, and he wants to tear him apart sometimes, not in a good way, but when they find each other’s arms at the end of the day, they never question it. it’s like breathing really, it gets hard and sometimes they fill their lungs with poison, except that none of them seem to feel the need to come up for air.

they met each other on the first day of college, being in the same dorm, with a bunch of reckless kids who wanted nothing less than to make the world their own. enjolras was inspired and fearless, grantaire was cynical and resigned, and neither can really pinpoint the moment when these things started to complete each other.

they hated each other at first sight, at the first beer that grantaire downed in one go in front of him, the first political speech that enjolras gave in their messy common room. nothing like the other yet every single one of their friends, even marius who they thought too in love to care, seemed to think the exact opposite. courfeyrac thinks he never found out, but enjolras knows perfectly well that he’d been taking bets on how long they’d last acting like they didn’t care about each other.

it took them two years, three months and sixteen days. a time that grantaire refers to as the living years; for the sole purpose of elicting a grunt from enjolras, who knows too well that grantaire has never felt more alive than from that day onwards.

then they graduated and moved on with their lives, only not the way they had expected to. and just like that, the flat that enjolras had spent four years saving for became theirs. it’s a typical new york studio, raw walls (one dedicated to grantaire’s art, the only thing he loves more than alcohol. and enjolras.) wooden floor, and drawn up curtains around a king size bed to create the privacy of a bedroom, that they reach one time out of two. it’s not much, but. it’s theirs.

enjolras went into political journalism,the radical kind, and grantaire likes to call him mister president. grantaire draws on people for a living, and even if it’s in ink, the marks he leaves on them will never last as long as the ones he leaves on enjolras.

they reek of each other. their skins are smudged with charcoal and wine and paper ink and too much love for two (one) soul to hold. jehan writes countless sonnets about them, and when grantaire got one of them tattooed on his ribcage, enjolras spent every night of the following week soothing it with his tongue, tracing the lines of these words that will forever be etched into grantaire’s skin, but never deeper than enjolras’ name.

enjolras holds grantaire through everything, binges and withdrawals and a program that they give up on because enjolras is too worried. enjolras is always worried. so grantaire holds him through debates and election nights and even holds his hand during a protest.

“you don’t even believe in these things.”  
“i believe in you.”

they don’t know how they make things work. how they found this rythm, when their friends, far more balanced and rooted and /normal/, still struggles sometimes.  
courfeyrac has the answer to this, like he has the answer to everything and nothing all at once. “you’re enjolras and grantaire. you’re impossible. improbable. so improbable that even the universe has given up on driving you apart.”

and they laugh at him, and joly asks if he’s been taking any new, experimental medicine lately, but grantaire squeezes enjolras’ hand, and wonders if he looks at him the way marius looks at cosette. she says she wishes marius would look at her the way enjolras looks at grantaire (but is perfectly happy with what she has).

they fell into each other like you freefall from a hot air balloon. there’s no turning back. they can’t turn back the clock and make up for things they’ve said and done and that still haunt them. so instead they chase their demons together.

grantaire doesn’t know what’s going to happen. only that enjolras, this golden god with mad ideals, and who’s found his purpose, is his.

enjolras is his.


End file.
